


Helen of Beacon Hills

by thedevilyousay



Series: Derek vs. Helen [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Misguided Kidnapping, Old Marrieds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilyousay/pseuds/thedevilyousay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an epic, final showdown, Derek and Helen take to the ring to finally settle their differences for once and all, winner takes everything. </p><p>Except, not really. But Helen does kidnap Stiles right out of Derek's bakery. Hell hath no fury like a PTA Mom scorned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helen of Beacon Hills

**Author's Note:**

> If you're new here, I would definitely recommend reading the first two if you want this to make sense. 
> 
> Otherwise, I'm not going to lie, this story might have evolved into full blown crack. I don't even know, but ya'll are the best and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> All mistakes are mine, I edit these myself.

“Scott, you’ve got to help me, you’re my only hope!” Stiles knows he sounds desperate, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He leans farther over the edge, his fingertips just passing over the side of the glass. His injured leg twinges in pain as he bends too far and it’s an effort to keep a gasp from slipping through his lips, lest the enemy be alerted to his actions. 

Scott, from across the store, barely looks up from his laptop. 

“I’m not helping you. I’ve officially learned my lesson and there is no way I’m sitting through another lecture on ‘Enablement and why it’s bad for Stiles.’ It was 45 minutes long, man. I was late for dinner.”

“Traitor!” Stiles huffs, the pain in his leg starting to make him a little dizzy. But he’s almost there. Just a few more inches and the cinnamon twist is his. It will be so worth it, he just knows. 

“What are you doing?” comes a gruff voice from behind him. Stiles startles, almost falling off the counter before strong arms are catching him and lifting him back up, careful of the bandages along his side and thigh. 

“I just want one more, Derek, one more!” The whine in his voice is awful but he feels little shame. His only regret is being caught, though not literally. It would have hurt like hell to hit the ground on his injured side but it was a risk he’d been willing to take. 

Derek rolls his eyes at his ridiculous husband before sliding the display case glass closed again, a deep sigh leaving his chest. 

“You’re not even hungry, Stiles, you’re just bored. Do you want to come in the back and watch? Or you could even help. I could probably find something for you to stir.” Derek’s hands had moved to Stiles’ legs, unconsciously rubbing comforting circles into the muscles. For the millionth time Stiles sends thanks to whoever’s in charge for letting him end up with such a patient and attentive spouse because God knows what he did to deserve him. He crosses his arms anyway, hoping that maybe a change of tactics will lead him to more baked goods. Or more fun in general.

“I don’t know, does ‘helping’ have any other definitions in this situation?” Stiles side eyes his husband and sniffs delicately, knowing his double meaning won’t go unnoticed. They both ignore Scott’s groan of displeasure as he shuffles in his bag for his headphones, hastily plugging them in to his laptop. 

“Stiles, you’re supposed to be resting. Healing! It’s barely been two weeks since you got out of the hospital.” Derek’s hands make a slow slide up his sides despite the words of protest and Stiles cats into his touch, leaning forward to tuck his head underneath the wolf’s chin. A pleased, familiar rumble vibrates under his ear and he sighs. 

“That wasn’t technically a no, big guy.” No one’s ever called Stiles a quitter, at least. Derek pulls back with a scowl, lightly cuffing the back of Stiles’ head. “No, Stiles. No tomfoolery until all could-have-been-prevented gunshot wounds are fully healed. I’m still angry you let yourself get shot in the first place, you’re lucky I’m not making you sleep on the couch.” 

Stiles gasps in mock horror. “One, I can’t believe you just used the word tomfoolery, are you eighty? Two, you wouldn’t! I’m injured! And it couldn’t have been prevented; we’ve been over this! There were kids in there, Derek, children! What if it had been Scarlett and Damien trapped in there? Would you-“ Derek shushes him gently and squeezes him back against his chest, all the fight drained out of him. 

“No, I wouldn’t. And yes, we’ve been over this, you’re very brave and stupid and I would have done the same thing but you can’t fault me for being upset you got hurt, Stiles. I need you here. Damien and Scar need you here. And on that note, that means you cannot have another twist. Not today. And if you try again, I _will_ call the Sheriff.” 

Scott snorts in amusement at this, making Stiles twist sharply just to laser him with his eyes. “ Oh yeah? Does Allison know where you are right now? Because I bet she’d love a pic of you currently eating her favorite doughnuts instead of supporting her in solidarity until the baby arrives, McCall.” Scott visibly pales at the threat, his eyes going puppy dog wide and harmless. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

Stiles plucks his phone out of his pocket and shoots Scott the picture he’d taken earlier just in case. Scott cries out in fear at the text alert, his headphones that obviously hadn’t done a very good job of cancelling out noise falling around his neck.

Before Stiles can feel too victorious, Derek is snatching his phone away with a disapproving noise and deleting the picture. 

“Hey! I needed that! Alli deserves to know she married a traitor, Derek! And he laughed at me!” He’s whining again, he’s not too proud to admit it. Scott deflates with relief and Derek sets the phone out of Stiles reach for the moment, giving him a stern look. 

“Don’t be mean, Stiles. He’s not the reason you’re on bed rest. I mean, he is for Alli-“ Scott looks offended and finally starts packing up his things, muttering under his breath about all the shit he’s receiving. “-But not for you. Now get down from there. I can’t open the shop with you blocking the register.” Derek finishes, handing him his phone and crutches. 

Stiles slides off the counter as gently as possible on to his good leg with a theatrical sigh, accepting his defeat. Derek watches him like a hawk as he begins his slow shuffle towards the bakery kitchen, prepared to move quickly if Stiles gets weak or slips or shows too much pain in his face. Stiles had only just convinced him he could get around on his own; he doesn’t want to be reduced back to actual, full blown bed rest because of a grimace.

He’s just said his goodbyes to Scott and made it to the chair specially set out for him in the back when he hears the front door bell jingle as a customer makes their way inside the shop, the first of the morning. He sighs, easing himself down into the seat and pulling his cell phone from his pocket in order to try and keep busy till Derek comes back. He wonders if it’s Kira or Isaac working today and secretly hopes it’s Isaac, if only so he can be entertained with bugging him. 

He’s playing a rousing game of Candy Crush when he hears what sounds as if someone has slapped their hand on the counter. He stops what he’s doing to strain his hearing towards the front of the store, curious at the commotion. It’s another minute before a woman’s sharp voice begins to rise and Derek’s in return. 

In all of their years together, Stiles has heard Derek seriously raise his voice only a number of times. Starting to worry, he reaches for his crutches where he’d propped them against the counter next to him and in his haste knocks them over instead.

“Well fuck me.” Bending isn’t really an option with his ribs but the voices haven’t quieted down yet, if anything they’re growing louder. 

He manages to stumble to his feet, hauling himself up with a grip on the stainless steel island, all his weight on his one good leg. Ten, maybe twelve, good hops lie between him and the swinging door to the front, a space that any other day would be nothing but at the moment seems insurmountable. But everything has gone suddenly, deadly quiet and his skin starts to prickle, knowing in his bones something is wrong. 

He’s six hops away and panting heavily by the time the door swings wide, revealing a crazy eyed, middle-aged woman that he’s immediately able to identify as one Helen Broom. 

She pulls up sharply, her gaze quickly taking in his casted leg and what he knows to be bright yellow bruises on large patches of visible skin and multiple scrapes from a shattered window. He’s had better days, if he’s being honest.

“What has he done to you?” She almost whispers, horror clear in her voice. 

At this point, Stiles is beyond lost. Just, utterly confused. He gapes for a moment, his mouth repeatedly opening and closing as he attempts to figure out what this woman is doing in the back of his husband’s bakery at 10am on a Tuesday. 

“Derek?” he finally manages to get out, wondering why said husband has not caught up with the obviously distraught lady yet. 

“Don’t worry, Stiles, you’re safe. He won’t be getting up any time soon.” She nods seriously, finally moving out of the door way and to Stiles knocked over crutches on the floor. She retrieves them and offers to help him steady himself on them, but he’s officially freaking out.

“What?! You knocked my husband out?” There’s no way. There’s absolutely no way this 120lbs soaking wet woman managed to knock his werewolf spouse unconscious. It’s at this point he decides he must be dreaming. A fever dream. Maybe he’s still in the hospital and these last two weeks of freedom have all been in his head. Dammit, he hates being in the hospital. 

“It wasn’t easy but I came prepared. Still, let’s get you out of here while we can.” She moves up beside him and begins to try and herd him towards the back entry door. 

“Helen, what are you talking about? Why are you here? I need to get to Derek, I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding.” 

Helen tsks at him as she physically begins to drag him towards the door, forcing him to move or go down with his balance so offset from his injuries. 

“I thought you might try and fight, Stiles. I know he’s had you under his influence for a long time but I’m not going to let you stay here another second longer, ok? I’m going to get you out of here.” 

With that, she’s pulling out a literal walkie talkie from her purse and Stiles almost starts laughing because what even? Just what kind of drugs do they have him on? The good kind, obviously.

“I have the mark in hand. P, bring the van around.” 

“Roger.” 

The response is immediate and with one hand still on Stiles back, Helen shoulders the back entry door open to a squeal of tires and one large white, windowless van. He has a moment to be impressed with her finesse, wondering if maybe when this is all sorted out if he should recommend her to the academy, before she’s pulling on him again.

He’s outside before he realizes it, the side of the van door opening just as quickly as it pulled up. 

“Alright, Helen, this is really funny, but I’m not getting in that van.” He tries but she doesn’t stop to listen. Another women, “P” he assumes, is jumping out of the vehicle and headed straight towards him. 

“Pansey?! Oh my god, what is going on?” 

Pansey doesn’t bother with any pitying looks; instead she’s pulling a small, glass vial from her coat pocket, uncorking it, and throwing the contents of it in his face. 

“P! I told you, he’s clean!” Stiles is still spluttering, reaching up to wipe the…water? from his eyes when Pansey moves in to hug him. He almost goes toppling over backwards but she pulls forward to counter balance and he gasps when it crushes his ribs.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Stiles! I’m just so happy he didn’t turn you! I always knew you weren’t really in to him, especially after that one time at the old diner? You know the one, and I was your waitress and you winked when I gave you your milkshake-“

From inside the store his Alpha roars, cutting Pansey off mid sentence. She squeaks instead, moving to one side of him as Helen grabs the other and they shove him towards and then inside of the van. 

“Wait! Guys, what are you doing!? DEREK!?” He’s yelling as the door slams closed and Pansey is jumping back into the driver’s seat.

“Floor it, P!”

“Floor it? Are you serious? Who actually says that outside of the movies-“

“Shut up, Stiles!”

A large crash into the side of the van has it and Stiles sliding but Pansey must have ran moonshine in a past life because she corrects and just keeps going. They’re a solid five minutes away before both of the women’s breathing evens out and Helen crawls into the back with him. 

Stiles, for his part, is doing his damnedest to try and stay calm despite having just been kidnapped by the top tier of the PTA phone tree. His mind is not doing a very good job comprehending how he got here and even if this isn’t a fever dream, he regrets taking that extra pain pill this morning. He just wanted to be comfortable, so sue him. 

“Are you ok?” Helen asks, her eyes concerned and sincere. “I’m sorry we had to be so rough, I didn’t know you were so badly injured, but I didn’t know when else we would have the opportunity. It’s so rare that the rest of his nest isn’t hanging around, so when I saw Scott leave, I knew it was time.” 

“Nest? Helen, I don’t understand…”

“I know, I know, it’s ok, Stiles. I’ll explain everything.” 

++++++++

“OK. Wait, Ladies, just wait. Let me get this straight. You think that Derek, Derek Hale, my husband, the father of my children and light of my life…is a fucking vampire?” 

Stiles, from his position of being tucked into the window seat (“Sunlight! He need’s sunlight!” Janice had argued.) of Helen’s home looks up into four of some of the most serious faces he’s ever laid witness to. Four, and not five because Carol, farthest to the left is nodding her head emphatically as she bites back a smile. Helen, who he has come to recognize as their Supreme, must see this out of the corner of her eye though because suddenly she’s snapping, “Don’t smile, Carol! It’s not romantic, we’ve been over this. I will _burn_ your 50 Shades of Grey copy, Carol, so help me.” Carol coughs and immediately starts to frown, crossing her arms over her chest to appear more serious. 

“Yes, Stiles. We know it’s a lot to take in but all of the signs are there. Deb, give him the list.” 

Deb immediately moves over to one of the built in bookshelves and pulls, no shit, Dracula down and takes out a nice, stationary piece of paper with a neatly bulleted list scrawled on it. Janice moves to take his cup of tea so that Deb can hand him their evidence. 

It reads:

PROOF DEREK HALE IS A VAMPIRE (VAMPYRE?):  
\- Hasn’t aged.  
\- Show’s an aversion to sunlight.  
\- Has never once been seen in Tabella’s. (The Italian Restaurant.)  
\- Inappropriately smells people. (“For their blood type? Can you smell blood type?”)  
\- Glowing, multicolored eyes!  
\- Large teeth!  
\- Glamoured husband and children. (“We’re taking Pansey’s word on this one.”)  
\- Nest of fellow vampires! (Lydia Martin! Jackson Whittemore! Erica Reyes! Isaac Lahey! ~~Scott McCall.~~ “But he’s so nice! And the vet!” “Who do you think supplies them with fresh blood?” Scott McCall! Etc.)  
\- Outdated way of speaking.  
\- Sex addict! (“What?” “Have you not seen the hickeys on Stiles? The man’s a fiend!”)  
\- TOLD! Helen! He! Was! A! Creature! Of! The! Night! 

And the list goes on. Stiles is half way down the page before his vision is so blurred with tears he can’t read anymore. Because he’s dying. Literally dying. Bury him in the back yard, pray his soul rests in peace, he’s dead. He hides his face in his hands and wheezes, unable to catch his breath. His shoulders shake up and down without his control and his ribs are on fire but he can’t stop. Carol, he thinks it’s Carol, sits next to him and begins to rub soothingly at his back.

“We’re sorry, Stiles. We know it’s a lot to take in. Just let it all out, we’re here for you.” 

He’s probably the same shade of the tomato’s Derek has a weird allergy to when he finally lifts his head and the first real laugh breaks free. And once it’s free, the rest follow, stampeding out after it. 

The ladies share a concerned look between them but Stiles is too busy trying not to pass out from lack of oxygen to care. When he’s finally done, surely after cracking a whole new rib, he meets Helen’s eyes. 

“Helen, call Allison.”

“Allison? Argent? Argent-McCall? Wife to one of the nesters?”

“Yes, Allison. Please, she’ll explain everything better than I can. Please just call her. Tell her I’m here, I’m ok, and she needs to come ASAP.”

“Ok, I guess. But I’m not inviting her in.”

++++++++

“Werewolves?! There’s no such thing as werewolves!” Janice cries, so distraught that she forgets to hold up the cross she had previously been wielding in front of her. 

Allison, eight months pregnant and not overly patient on a good day, rubs at her temples in frustration. “If I’m going to explain this again, can I sit down? I would really love to sit down.” And Deb is moving to grab one of the porch chairs immediately as Carol helps ease her into it.

“Well don’t go out there! What if she’s one of them!?” Janice yells, again, but Deb begins to argue that it doesn’t matter, the woman’s pregnant. Don’t you remember what it’s like being eight months pregnant? Even Creatures of the Damned deserve a chair for that, Janice! 

Before anyone else can add to the argument, there’s a loud “Daddy!” from behind Allison, sitting now, but still out on the porch where she hadn’t been invited over the threshold, and one small were child flinging herself into the entry and then right into the front sitting room. 

“Scarlett!” If Stiles could walk, he would have snatched her up but as it is, she flings herself into his lap, burying her face into his shoulder as he wraps her up in his arms. It kills his injuries but he doesn’t care, so happy to see his daughter after the insanity of his morning. 

“Stiles?” Pansey makes to move towards them, perhaps worried for his safety, but Scarlett turns on her in full beta shift, her eyes a bright yellow and her normally sweet little face contorted into a snarl. 

“Oh my god!” Pansey stumbles back, knocking in to one of the side tables before scrambling out of the room. 

“Scar!” Stiles lightly admonishes, too amused to truly be angry. The wolf’s out of the bag anyway, might as well let them have their fun. 

“Stiles?!” And that's Derek, finally, rounding the corner and sweeping both Stiles and Scarlett, still in Stiles lap, into a bridal carry as he frantically clutches them both to his chest. 

“Oh, fu-fudge. I thought the Turner Pack was back.” 

“What? Oh god, no, no. I’m fine. I can’t breathe or feel my leg, but I’m fine. This was a huge misunderstanding.”

Derek tries to calm down as he moves to sit with Stiles still gathered to his chest much like one would a doll, but it’s not coming easily. Scarlett slips off to stand next to them, but remains close enough that she can keep hugging her Dad’s arm. 

“Where’s Damien?” Stiles finally asks, when everyone seems to have mostly settled.

“It’s Tuesday, Boyd picked him up for math tutoring. I didn’t want to worry him until we had to but Scarlett was with Allison when Helen called.” 

Stiles just nods, petting the top of his little girl’s head as he finally starts to feel calm for the first time since he was snatched this morning. He’s absently rubbing his cheek on Derek’s shoulder when he suddenly starts sneezing.

“Oh my god, what are you covered in? Is that...garlic?” He sweeps his hand along Derek’s chest to knock some of the herb off but now that Stiles is paying attention, it’s all over him. 

“Courtesy of Mrs. Broom. She threw it in my face before using a military grade stun gun on me Chris Argent would be proud of.” 

Speak of the devil, the woman clears her throat as she settles back into the room, apprehension still obvious on her face. Derek lets out a low growl and his eyes flash but Stiles hits him lightly on the arm.

“Hey, no. Stop that. Her methods were insane but her intentions were good, Derek. She faced what she thought was a big, scary vampire to help out someone she thought was in need. If anything, that sounds like honorary Pack material to me.” 

Helen’s eyes go wide at the last part and Stiles makes up his mind to do this properly. 

“Helen Broom, this is Derek Hale, Alpha of the Hale-McCall Pack of Beacon Hills. I, Stiles Stilinski, Emissary of the Pack, formally invite you keep our secrets and answer our call should the need ever arise and know that the favor shall always be returned. Think of it like your phone tree! Except when this call goes out, you get a family of werewolves ready to tear apart whatever the problem is. Use it wisely, is what I’m saying.” 

“I…Thank you. I’m honored. And I’m sorry about all of this. Derek…we obviously got off on the wrong foot.” 

Stiles can’t help but snort at that and two sets of disapproving eyes find him immediately. _Well shit._ Maybe them being friends instead of enemies _isn’t_ such a good idea after all.

During this time, Pansey had quietly managed to sneak back into the room and behind Helen. She whispers something in her ear that makes Derek growl again and Helen roll her eyes. 

“Jesus, give it up, P! The man is happily married. As are you! Leave him alone!” 

“But he winked at me-“ 

“Carol! Come get your sister!” Carol flutters into the room, grinning from ear to ear and blushing as she looks at Derek.

“Sorry! We’re leaving! Hi Derek! Bye Stiles!” Carol drags Pansey away, and Stiles sighs, settling more comfortably into the window seat as Derek stands. The former enemies make their way into what Stiles guesses is the kitchen, talking intensely between themselves as they go. He supposes they probably aren’t leaving just yet, he might as well make himself at home. Scarlett pulls herself up beside him and curls into his good side, laying her head on his chest. 

“Daddy?” 

“Hmm?”

“I smell brownies. Do you think if I ask real nice Ms. Helen might give me one?” 

“Ahhhh, uh, well, probably, sweetheart. But don’t tell your papa, ok? He is _not_ a fan.”

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon going forward for this is that Helen and Derek become besties and they RULE the PTA together with an iron fist. 
> 
> Come talk to me about it on [ tumblr! ](http://www.witchspark.tumblr.com)
> 
> Finally, all kudos and comments are pure love and literally the reason this story even has a third part. <3 I can't thank ya'll enough.
> 
> PS HAPPY NEW YEAR. :)


End file.
